


Finding A Way

by AWriterofTaste



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Boys In Love, M/M, Timeline Shenanigans, Unrequited Love, queliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriterofTaste/pseuds/AWriterofTaste
Summary: Eliot Waugh can't give up on the chance he had with the man he loves. No one really did get proof of concept like that. If Alice could come back from being a niffin, if Penny 23 could hop timelines, if Julia could become a goddess, if every other redemption was possible, then was his own. One way or another he'd find his way back to Q.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

It had been only weeks since Quentin had sacrificed himself in the mirror world. For months Eliot had to watch helplessly as the monster toyed with Q, threatening to the end the life of the man he loved if he didn’t bow to his every whim. Margo, that wonderous bad bitch, had found a way, found a way to make it all end. To free Eliot, and by some divine grace, his body had survived the axe blows from King Margo the Destroyer. Sweet Bambi, never did know when she might be coming on a little strong. It was all looking up. Fuck, he was so close, so close to reuniting with Quentin, taking back the worst mistake of his life. Reigniting the journey of peaches and plums.

But of course, when it came time for a sacrifice to be made, Q was the first in line. He was always the first in line, always the one who found a way. The fireside vigil was nice and all, but it wouldn’t have been enough for Quentin if it had been anyone else who’d been lost in the mirror world. And they all went on to get their happy endings. Margo, Alice, Josh and Fen had brought the Fillorians to the new world, Further. Kady ran the Hedgewitches and Eliot had become a professor, yes, strange but true. The events all played again in his mind as Eliot looked around the cottage he called home in many lifetimes until a voice pulled him out of his own head.

“So do you think a man like yourself could ever love a man like me?” Charleton looked hopefully at Eliot. 

The bar behind him in the cottage looking cleaner than normal was the only thing that kept Eliot grounded. The scene of the cottage’s interior with only Charleton as company was still a bit (or more, much more) triggering. Bringing up memories of the monster driving and Eliot (and Charleton) helpless in the passengers seat…more like bound in the trunk -well- cottage.

It takes a moment for Eliot to respond, Charleton was a kind and gentle soul, so innocent with so much to learn. And a shared horrific experience, if pain was oxygen to a Magicians fire, it could definitely be that same oxygen to a fire kindling a new relationship. But Charleton was no Quentin Coldwater, the awkward puppy, brave and giving, 50 years of love Quentin Coldwater that Eliot is so desperately clinging to the memory of. If the two could live 50 years in an alternate timeline, grow old and die together, if Alice could comeback from being a niffin, if Penny23 could change timelines, if Julia could be a goddess, then Eliot still had a stake in this fight left. Why in the fuck has there been a way in every other scenario except for the one that took away the love of his life. Eliot turned to face the other man now.

“I’m sorry Charleton, I could love a man like you, you’re a fine man with a lot to offer any other wonderful man or woman. But I couldn’t give you the best of me. It already belongs to someone else. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me. I think I’ll be going away for a while.” Eliot explained as he cupped the fair face of his favorite once-monster host. 

He knew there had to be a way. And he would be damned if he wasn’t going to find it. They could all turn a blissfully ignorant eye to the one man who would have sacrificed himself a thousand times over for everyone of them now that he was the one who needed saving; but Eliot couldn’t do so. He quickly tutted a spell to summon his belongings from every inch of the cottage and headed to the kitchen for the only bottle that may be able to bring the slightest joy and insight to him, considered where he was headed. Meeting his prada case at the door, the past 5 years of his life packed neatly into the small leather carry on, he waved a goodbye to Charleton:

“Not for long my friend-check out Todd by the way-his slacks did always fit a little too well for that man to be completely straight.” With a wink, Eliot was out the door and on his way to find Henry. The only man capable of green lighting the social suicide on which he was about to embark.

\-------------------------

“Henry, a minute for your favorite High King?” Eliot gracefully shut the door to Dean Fogg’s office before waving open the false bookshelf in which Henry kept only his best cognac and whiskeys.

“Eliot!” Dean Fogg exclaimed as he stifled a chuckle while Eliot picked his way through the bourbons in a little too familiar of a fashion.

“As my newest professor, I trust you’ll appreciate my holding you to a higher standard than your tenured peers. And of course, by that I imply your choice of scotch -not in the mood for bourbon, if you don’t mind- just be sure not too good of one, as it is only 11 am.”

Eliot managed a smirk at this. Actually, it may have been the first time he smiled since waking up to hear his once-husband was dead. He grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue by habit and summoned two glasses to the desk of the Dean who he knew would be one of the few, if only to side with his plight.

“Tell me Henry, about the other timelines. More specifically about Q-Quentin- and I in the other timelines.” The young man said as he expertly poured a perfect two fingers for the two of them.

“Always the best of friends, always close, in Timeline 1 Quentin didn’t adjust well here and every timeline thereafter I sent you to retrieve him for the exam. Always made a spectacular difference for him, having you as a frien-“

Eliot cut him off: “Sorry, I should have been a little more specific. Excuse my bluntness, I know you’re an open-minded man, but I don’t know your level of comfort when discussing the ins and outs of- never mind. Were there any other timelines in which Q and I were romantically involved, uh- more than ‘friends’?” Eliot had never been a shy person, at least not since leaving his not soon enough forgotten farm town home. But still he hardly managed to keep his suave when delving into the more personal aspects of his life with the man who now was his employer. 

Fogg sat back in his chair as he grabbed the bottle of scotch and topped off the two of their glasses. With a nod the door locked from behind Eliot’s head.  
“Waugh, you may find it prudent to not assume me completely unfamiliar with the love lives of my two heroes. In fact the reason it was always you to retrieve Quinten on his first day ever since timeline 2, was not by mere happenstance. In timeline 1 you eventually found each other. In fact, in every timeline you were star-crossed lovers. Always one to die before the other could wise up and take the chance he should. Sometimes it was you who pushed away Coldwater. Sometimes it was Coldwater not being able to get over the heteronormative stereotype he had been raised on before it was too late. Still, one of you was always missing your other half until you met your eventual end.” Fogg took in Eliot as he sipped his glass, searching his face for what he needed. An ear? A shoulder? Advice? Henry had never been a relationship man, so he silently prayed it was not the latter.

Eliot kept his composure as he took in this new information. In every single timeline they had found each other? Really? It took six months for his Q to even kiss him at the mosaic. But it was also Q who had suggested marriage when Arielle passed. He was still in the throws of his thoughts when he felt Dean Fogg’s eyes on him, searching his face for understanding (and probably understanding more than Eliot wished he would).

“Well then what I’m about to ask of you shouldn’t be too much of a surprise then.” Eliot cleared his throat and blinked away the memories of the mosaic. “I’m not done. I’m not going to lie down and take it like the rest of them are. Bambi and Julia and Alice and Penny 23 and all of them may be perfectly content thinking that Q would have wanted it this way. But to hell with what he would have wanted. What about what I want god dammit? Fuck…” El, took in a shaky a breath as he adjusted his vest and reached for his now near empty glass. With a clearing of his throat and regaining of that pristine regard he carried, he continued: “Q would have done anything if it had been any one of us, anything. Why aren’t we trying to do the same as he would have. Jesus, Henry! For once in my fucking life I’m trying to put someone first besides myself! Yes…it may be in my interest, but fuck it. Wouldn’t you at least fucking TRY to find a way if there was one?” His volume had grown and his demeanor had intensified yet frustratingly, Fogg had not moved or flinched or shown any sign of hearing him.

“Eliot, even though you’re for some reason shouting at me and pleading to me as if I am the one who told you your dreams are not possible, you have yet to ask of me any favor that I could refuse to even make you have to plead a case.” Fogg said as he lowered his glass and leaned forward towards Eliot across the walnut desk.  
Now realizing that he had never actually asked Fogg what he meant to request and had therefore just yelled at him with zero justification, Eliot let his chest rest down and relaxed the tension from his shoulders.

“Ah. My apologies, it seems I did forget to actually ask you the favor.” Eliot met the Dean’s eyes as he let a pregnant pause grow between them-“Well, I’d like to take up Mayakovsky’s former post in Antarctica. I figured he was a Master Magician with, frankly, a lot of cool shit, and since I have zero plan as how to go about getting my husband back, I’ll need some cool shit to inspire ideas and a blank slate as to not distract me.” Eliot kept eye contact with the Dean now as he waited for his response. It would be a double edge sword. No one in their right mind wants to live in an arctic wasteland, but then again, Eliot was not in his right mind, not completely.

Henry thought it rather funny, not Eliot’s request or circumstances, that actually made perfect sense. He found it funny that the most depressing teaching position that needed to be filled at Brakebills had never been empty, and he never had to force anyone into it. Somehow, the shit end of the deal in the world of magical professorship was always requested by one suffering soul, until the next generation’s suffer welled up enough just in time for the post to be filled again. Henry was not usually a prying man, but there was a lot to unpack in that short proposition Eliot had just given him. Did he say husband? What the hell, he’d had a glass or two already, let’s pry open that suitcase.

“Let’s take this one bomb dropped at a time, shall we? Quentin was your husband, okay that’s all fine and dandy but I received no invitations and that is one party I wouldn’t have wanted to miss: The Wedding of the Great Eliot Waugh. And anyways, for what plan would you need the cool shit of Mayakovsky’s? And why god dammit, would you of all people, give up your rich lifestyle for the barebones excuse for a life that Antarctica has to offer?”

Eliot smiled, was this the second time now? Maybe he should’ve come to see Henry sooner. 

“The wedding was small, private, beside a beautiful mosaic with our son there. Fillory of course, see, we were on the key quest and one took us our entire lifetimes to complete. Margo did something that made it all for not. Actually she wiped out the other timeline entirely. But Q and I remembered it, and it was beautiful. And I…I made the biggest mistake of my life. That man looked me in the eyes in this timeline, our real lives, and basically asked to do it all over again. Be together, again, forever. And I turned him down, I pushed him away, Henry I made him think I didn’t love him if I had the choice of anyone else. And it’s not true…from the moment he walked across that damn lawn, I knew I wanted him. And not in the ‘hit em and kick em’ way I’m used to wanting someone.” Eliot stared down at his hands now, the hands that helped birth a son, that placed a ring on Quentin’s left hand, that pushed away his chance at happiness when Q proposed it back in the real timeline. He sighed as he looked at Henry, who was staring back expectantly. 

“I’m not ready to give up. If there is a way…a way to bring him back, to go back, hell to just find the mosaic life and live there forever, if there’s a way for me to ever truly live again, I’m going to find it. And let’s be honest, if I’m here, it won’t happen, too many distractions. If there is a way, I will either find it in Mayakovsky’s artifacts and inventions, or I’ll think of it without the real world there to distract me.” Eliot explained his plan as he brushed a brown curl away from his face with his pinky.

Henry already knew he was going to allow Eliot this final Hail Mary.

“You’ll have to teach the student’s their lessons while you’re there-“

“Of course.”

“And you’ll have to know when to throw in towel.”

“One year, Henry.’

“And you’ll have to ask for help if you need it-“

“Fine.” Eliot contained his relief as he negotiated with the man before him.

“Then I don’t see why not. Leave tonight, put together your lesson plan-I’ll look it over before you portal there. Food doesn’t go bad there the place is enchanted or some shit, I don’t know, so you might as well pack a Costco into that charmed bag of yours.” Henry sank into his chair as Eliot stood from his own, triumph not hiding well on his porcelain face.

“Thank you, Henry. I’m sure you know what this means to me.” Eliot bowed his head to the Dean before he tossed back the reminder of his glass. And with that he was on his way to plan the great rescue of Quentin Coldwater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you're liking this! This is my first time ever trying my hand at fanfic writing. El will find Q again, and maybe another adventure will unfold as well. I'm hoping for 20 chapters. I'll post as often as I can, thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Eliot walked past the fountain at which Alice’s brother, Charlie, had niffined out. It now seemed like a lifetime ago; the first contact the group had with The Beast. Alice was always too smart for her own good, if the stupid girl hadn’t gone and messed with gateways and such, maybe Quentin and Eliot could’ve found each other in timeline 40 much sooner than they had. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken a lifetime lost to a quest, or all that had been lost along the way for so many of the others.  
He knew he’d have to find some way to present his upcoming hiatus from the world to the group, and most of all to Bambi. He knew that she had gone with most of the others to whatever came from the world seed, we would name it ‘Further’ in his own mind, but who knows what it’s mother, Fen had named the new world. He thought Q might find the name fitting, as he was pulling from the theme of the man’s favorite fairytale-turned real-turned nightmare. However, whatever the new world was named, he was sure it was fitting for his Bambi, as he hadn’t seen her since she left him.

But he would need to get word of his travels to her; should she come looking for him eventually, she would not take kindly to being out of the Loop of Eliot. And he really didn’t want to face the wrath of his King Bambi. Even if it was historically short lived, only because it was Eliot. Of course he would need to find Penny; he and Julia were supposedly travelling with HQ, maybe they had found the new world already. 

Eliot stopped short at the door to the cottage, he had been on autopilot since leaving the Dean’s office, and his feet had carried him back to his once home. Deciding not to go back inside the familiar setting, he took a step back and turned to face the lawn before him. Eliot breathed the air in deeply, memorizing the smell he would miss too soon once in the Arctic. His memories while inside the monster, never did this smell justice. That seemed odd to him too…wasn’t smell supposed to be the sense most strongly connected to memory? The more he thought about it, it did make sense…it wasn’t really a memory he was living in, it was a tainted version of his safe place that he ran to when the horrors of how the monster was conduiting his body became too much to bare. He resigned himself to the wooden bench beside the door and started playing ‘Shake It Off” in his head as he closed his eyes facing the sun; Penny could find him, Eliot didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good buzz tracking down the Traveler. 

\-----------------------------------

“Fuck Waugh! What the hell are you doing? HQ was almost down, and you fucking summoned her too!” Penny23 bellowed as he grabbed Eliot roughly by the shoulder. 23 may be a little different from Penny40, but his demeanor and reactions to a mental Taylor Swift montage was always reliable.

Eliot opened his eyes to meet Penny’s which were filled simultaneously with exasperation and concern. Penny knew his friend was in pain, Eliot had let his wards down and for the first time in years Penny had access to the mind of the usually incredibly private man. Penny searched Eliot’s face as he took in all of the new information that had been kept a secret from him and everyone for so long.

Eliot let Penny all the way in; he showed him the mosaic, the mistake made not soon after, the PTSD he still fought from his time with the monster, and the fresh in his mind conversation with Henry Fogg.

“Fuck.” Was all Penny23 muttered as he took a seat next to Eliot outside the cottage. He let a few minutes pass between the two men before he answered the questions he knew were about to come from Eliot.

“I found it, the new world. They named it Fillory 2.0, but for what it’s worth, Further is a better name. Figured Margo might have thought of that but whatever. It’s um, actually really cool…knife trees, for real. Definitely the product of Fen.

Margo won’t be happy about your going, but I’m sure you expected that. She’s adjusted well to being on a new world- she was always well adjusted anywhere though. She’s High King, but that’s expected. I could take you straight there but I think you might want to tell Julia first…he was her best friend you know. She’d probably be happy about it, but she can be hard to predict sometimes. And dude, just please put your wards back up, I don’t wanna see some of the shit going on in there, just have a conversation, Waugh.” Penny finished as he made his point with exasperated hands.

Eliot sighed as he gestured the wards that usually kept his mind sealed tight back into their normal place. With Penny on the outside again he rolled his head and straightened his vest, smoothing down the fabric as if to smooth out the last few minutes of uncharacteristic vulnerability he just shared with Penny. 

“I’d appreciate you not sharing what I’ve just allowed you to see.” Eliot eyed Penny23 to really drive his point home. That stare that everyone on the Brakebills campus knew; Margo had mastered it too.

“Yeah…I don’t want to relive it. Not in like an anti-queer way, I mean just…fuck dude, you got some shit going on in there, uh-monster, god killer wise.” Penny retorted as Eliot let down his stare. 

“That’s not for sharing either.” Eliot said, turning to face the lawn again. That was enough emotional shit for today. He could feel his buzz slipping, annoyingly.

“Alright-‘ Eliot stood from the bench beside the cottage, and stretched out a hand to his right. “Take me to see your goddess and spawn.” He finished as Penny23 stood and took hold of his open hand.

\----------------------------------

Julia silently closed the door the nursery when she heard a familiar voice from her kitchen. She hadn’t seen Eliot in a while and thought this unexpected visit might be nice. She had her suspicions about a deeper bond than friendship between the man and her best friend. From how badly she was hurting after Quentin’s death, she could imagine Eliot had taken it just as hard, possibly even worse if her theory were true. She padded on bare feet into the cozy bungalow’s humble kitchen. She wasn’t much of a chef, and neither was Penny most days, but the kitchen was at least large enough to accommodate a guest or two when need be. She found Eliot already rummaging through her wines as Pen was opening a stout for himself. 

“Eliot…it’s really a nice surprise, but guys really? It’s barely past noon.” She said as she brought Eliot in for a hug and placed a bottle of Bordeaux in his hand from her collection disguised as box wines. 

“Oh thank god Jules, I thought you were actually drinking box wines and I was going to have to judge you harshly.” Eliot said, rather truthfully as he inspected the bottle of 2000. A good year if he remembered, the first time in a decade they hadn’t fucked up a vintage.

“HQ’s napping, she’s already dreaming…” Penny said as he tilted his ear towards the baby’s side of the house. 

“And you may want something for this, love.” He finished as he took two wine glasses and a tulip out of the cupboard.

Julia looked at Penny and then to Eliot, trying to read their faces for any hint as to what she could need to be drinking in the middle of the day to hear. She resigned herself to rolling with yet another punch as she had been doing for the past 5 years and accepted her glass from Eliot, pulling out a chair for him and herself at her sun-soaked breakfast table. Penny took his seat next to her and across from Eliot. He nodded towards the man in front of him and leaned back in his chair.

“Well…” Eliot began as he gave Penny a look that said: ‘where to start’.

“Just tell her about the other timeline.” Penny encouraged him. Julia gave a puzzled look to the two men but just waited for what was to come.

“Do you remember when Q and I went to find another key? Well no of course you don’t…um, okay. So, in another timeline, one that somehow got undone and never actually happened, Q and I needed to find that key that Margo found. We went to Fillory, using the entrance in the clock like the Chatwins did…and it brought us not only to old Fillory, like way before we usually get there, but it brought us to a mosaic, like a huge mosaic on the ground with tons of tiles; and we had to build it correctly to get the key. Anyways…” Eliot drank down half his wine glass. God dammit, why can’t Julia just be a psychic too, he never wanted to have to tell anyone this shit. It was his! His personal lifetime with his personal Q. He drew a breath to steady himself before continuing.

“So, the mosaic took over 50 years to complete. We lived out our entire lives there. And long story short, we lived our 50 years there…together…in the biblical sense. We loved each other and we got married, and we grew old and eventually I died there…with him as my husband.” Eliot finished and he looked up to read Julia’s face.  
She took in the man before her with fondness and understanding, but not surprise. Eliot was relieved actually, that she didn’t look surprised, may have made him question himself and Eliot Waugh never does that. Julia wrapped her head around her best friend’s widow telling her their story now, but didn’t quite get why a lost love would require this amount of tension still lingering between the three of them.

“El,” she started as she touched his hand across the table. “I’m so sorry that his death is running deeper for you than the already awful pain the rest of us feel. But…you’re stronger. Stronger than all of us, you’ll get through it.” Eliot pulled away from her touch as she finished her sentence. 

“But that’s just it, Julia.” He sat up now, tightening his grip on the glass in his hand. “I’m not going to just get over it, I’m not going to just move on! The rest of you can be pacified by a fucking song and fire show but it’s not enough! It will never be enough and I’m going to fucking do what he would have done if it had been me or you, or any of us!” Eliot came down from his high volume as he felt Penny’s protective eyes on him from across the table. Julia’s winced at his words. Good, he hoped they hurt, it was fucking true and she knew it. The wine bottle flew into Eliot’s hand from the counter and he refilled his glass before he continued, softer this time as it did occur to him that there was a child a few rooms over.

“Look, I’m sorry. And I don’t know if there’s a way to bring him back or to fix this in any way. And even if there isn’t, I at least owe it to myself and to him to try. Before I resign myself to truly losing the only man I have and can see myself again, having a life with.” -He let a pause pass between them before he continued on- “I’ve taken up Mayakovsky’s post in Antarctica for the year. If there’s an answer, I’ll find it or think of it there. I’ll either see you again sooner with Q, or I’ll see you in a year and I’ll start picking up the pieces.” Eliot almost whispered the last of it. God he’d have to work on yelling at people about this. Margo would axe him again if he had an outburst with her. Since when was he no longer the picture of non-emotion and pure grace? That could be regained soon too.

“Well Eliot, there’s no harm in trying. Good luck not drinking yourself to death, from what I’ve been told, Mayakovsky was 90% of the way there and he wasn’t you…especially the you I’m looking at now. I’m not going to shove the blade in deeper, so I won’t give you my opinion. I’m sorry for your loss. We loved him too, especially me.” Julia eyed him, trying not to show that she was really hurt by his earlier words. Opening wounds again, and in her house too, just as everything was calming down.

“Leave. Good luck.” She said as she stood from her chair, letting her legs slide it backwards across the wood. 

Before Eliot could respond, Penny had taken his hand and they were now standing on black sand, gold flecks peeking out at them every so often and the familiar scent of opium filled their nostrils.

\-----------------------------------

“Really Eliot! Fucking Antarctica?! I love you sweetheart but get the fuck over it!” Margo screamed at Eliot as she slammed the door to her private study in the Fillory 2.0 (Further) castle. 

Eliot winced at her words but knew her well enough to know that once she heard him out, she wouldn’t be quite so harsh.

“Bambi, sit down, please. And just, darling, just shut the fuck up.” Eliot said lovingly to the seething High King as he sat beside her on the love seat and took her head to rest on his shoulder in their familiar fashion.

“Bambi, I only told about a tenth of the story to the rest of them in there. You deserve the full truth of why I can’t move on, why I won’t just move on.” Eliot stroked Margo’s hair as he sighed and began to tell her all about he and Quentin’s lost love affair and 50 years of bliss in a scrubbed out timeline. The part he left out when explaining to Alice, Josh and Fen that he may not be visiting for a while.

He told Margo things he had never verbally expressed to anyone before, things he even hid from Penny when he let down his wards. And as he told her of all those years together, he felt the tension leaving her body. By the time he was finished and looked down at his closest friend in the multiverse, he could have sworn he saw her wipe a tear off her caramel cheek. 

“Alright El,” she began as she sat up to face him now-“I guess you wouldn’t be here with me anyways but I would have preferred to be able to go to Ibiza during your spring break, not fucking Antarctica. But I’ll make it work, because I love you El, and I do want you to be happy. Plus, trying to piece something together like this is a hell of a lot better than you offing yourself in my absence.” She gave him the look she saved only for him. 

“Go get your man, honey. I’ll still be here either way.” She kissed him softly on the cheek and squeezed his arm as she stood up to open the door.

“I love you, High King Bambi.” He said as he touched her fingertips with his, before going to find Penny and get back to Brakebills.

He still had to come up with a lesson plan to get the Dean off his back before portaling to the frozen wasteland he was about to call home for the next year. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He gave Penny a nod and stood by a statue of the four former Kings and Queens of the original Fillory, waiting for Penny to say his goodbyes to the group. Just as he had finished memorizing marble Quentin’s face, Penny’s hand fell on his shoulder and the world around him faded into a new one; back on the lawn at Brakebills, with no more opium to ease the hole in his chest. 

“Thank you, Penny. I’ll see you eventually.” Eliot said as he turned to walk towards the library.

“No problem. And next time, just fucking text me, the baby hates TSwift too.” Penny was gone before Eliot could respond.

\-------------------------------

“Alright Henry, I’ve got my lesson plan and I’d rather just go now-with no more talking- if that’s fine.” said Eliot as he handed the Dean the single sheet of paper containing the words: ‘Cruel and Cold Instruction on Control, No Matter The Circumstance.’

Dean Fogg laughed as he looked over the single sentence. Remembering why he gave Eliot a position in the first place he just handed the paper back with a nod. 

“I know where your priorities currently lie, Mr.Waugh. And I trust that you can instruct these students just as well as Mayakovsky. It seems to be a common theme -amongst my arctic professors- of not giving a shit about the smaller details.”

Dean Fogg led Eliot through the tunnels below the school, the same place where they had all first received their demons in their backs. Eliot tried not to remember the gruesome day but was unfortunately dragged down yet another memory lane. It was one of the more strange sensations they had all experienced. Gut wrenching, agonizing pain up until the moment the demon had accepted it’s new home. The second the creature took hold amongst the flesh and bone, all pain ceased…no fading or even residual burn, it just…stopped. 

Deeper than Eliot even knew possible for the tunnels under the school, the portal was now visible a few feet ahead of the men. The portal was strong, stronger than any Eliot had seen before. An eerie gray/white/blue light escaped it and lit up the surrounding darkness. 

Fogg gave Eliot a friendly pat on the back and tipped his head as if to say ‘until next time, friend.’

And just like that, Eliot stepped out of the damp and warm underground lobby and into the bitter cold of the Arctic. Bitter doesn’t even begin to describe it, actually. Unless you’d been there, you wouldn’t know. Cold like this ceases to feel cold anymore, once it gets more than 60 degrees below zero. It turns searing hot. It almost feels as though it could melt the flesh off your bones and boil the blood in your arteries. It’s the kind of feeling that makes you forget you’re a magician at all, and leaves you running frantically towards a fortress in the middle of a forgotten island of ice.


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot was one of those fortunate people who just didn’t have nightmares. Not even a fever dream as a child, or after he saw The Exorcist for the first time. He did dream, but most of the time he didn’t remember dreams, and if he did, they made so little sense, he never bothered to ponder any of them. This may have been because when he was young, the world was already cruel enough to him, sticking him with a shit family, it figured why push him any further. And as he got older the reasoning may have evolved into something along the lines of: the life he sculpted for himself was so great in his eyes (but most anything would be better than the damn farmhouse) that he didn’t really have a need for dreams. And the lack of nightmares may just have been because he was one of those fortunate few. Eliot had always been a good sleeper, when he bothered with sleep at all. Never disturbed, no tossing or turning, always peaceful. Which is why jolting awake, soaked in sweat and not recognizing his immediate surroundings came as such a shock to him that first barely morning in Antarctica. 

For someone who rarely dreamed, this was a strange occurrence. And for someone who had never even had a nightmare, it was honestly quite terrifying. Even more strange was the permanence in which it had made its home in his mind. He remembered it clear as day, as though it had just happened before his eyes. 

Quentin. Terrified and alone. Or- not alone- but definitely not in the presence of fellow humans. Eliot watched through Quentin’s eyes as the monster tormented him still, even in death, living in a cruel disguise as Eliot. Taking turns between wringing Quentin’s heart, playing out a bad reenactment of the day Eliot pushed him away, “not when we have a choice.” And then turning the tables to inflict the other kinds of pain, physical and just as real. The more advanced types of torture, that only a god-killing monster could conjure up. Plucking of eyelashes and removal of digits, slow and controlled, only to let the various body parts reform like a lizard and start the process over again. Sometimes it just played Quentin’s own memories back to him: finding his father sick with cancer on the bathroom floor, watching Alice turn into a Niffin or the wedding of Eliot and Fen. It seemed as though the dream went on for days, with Eliot, powerless, a lone spectator to the horrifying act. Until finally the rain bizarrely came and Eliot awoke, shivering in his own sweat, gasping for air.

Still trying to reclaim his breath, Eliot frantically turned side to side until the realization came as to where he had just awoken. The gray light of the arctic shone in through the window beside him in the small studio apartment in the staff wing of the fortress. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, to rub away the sleep but quickly pulled them away when behind his lids was not the familiar blackness but images of the dream. On unsteady legs, as if stepping onto dry land for the first time in months, he stood from the small twin bed and felt his way to the bag on the dresser. He quickly summoned the orange bottle form the bag and dry swallowed half a Xanax to slow his heart and breath. Breakfast of champions. There were some things magic couldn’t fix.

A few hours later, Eliot sat at the long wooden table in the chair that usually held Mayakovsky. He supposed it was his chair now, and the thought was slightly disturbing. But no more so than the images currently swimming around his brain. An hour ago the sedative effects had started to set it, thank god; and because Eliot was a practiced connoisseur pharmaceuticals, he may just be able to carry on with his day as planned. If he could silence his mind until it was more convenient to process this. So, he went to work picking through Mayakovsky’s old possessions, in search of a dream bottle.

A dream bottle was very similar to an emotion bottle. Well, it was actually the exact same concept. And just as the emotion bottles took all the emotions, good and bad, so would the dream bottle. Some people may have found this to be a downside, but Eliot was not one of those people. Fairly dreamless sleep turned out to have it’s advantages. He wouldn’t wear the bottle around his neck this time though, he would stash it away with all the Quentin paraphernalia he had brought with him. Leave it for a more appropriate time to be dissected. He quietly hoped, in the back of his mind, that there would never be an appropriate time. But, he knew this massively disturbing event would more than likely be instrumental in his reunion with the man he loved, no matter how awful it would be when the time became appropriate.

After discovering that Mayakovsky kept mostly just lichen vodka hidden in the usually suspect places of the South campus, Eliot decided to try his luck in the staff wing and apartment that he had come from earlier this morning. Making his way back through the wing he started to notice for the first time, the awful condition of the place. Crumbling brick, mold (likely from the humidity of the warming spells), busted lights, and that fucking smell…of wet dog and mold and rotting fruit. He made a mental note to fix all of these things when his brain was at full capacity again. I mean, how hard is it to perform normal upkeep on this place? Not that damn hard when you’re a magician. But I guess Mayakovsky didn’t get that memo.

Now back in the small studio apartment that belonged to every Brakebills South professor before him, Eliot began to peel back the layers that were Mayakovsky. He found mostly herbs and solvents and the like for spell work. In fact, Eliot figured this place was supplied with all the ingredients you’d need to perform any spell, potion, hex or charm you could dream up. And the illegal ingredients came as no surprise to him either, hidden a bit more conspicuously under floorboards. This really was the ultimate stash of a Master Magician. But nothing too exotic had presented itself until Eliot opened a linen closet, or what used to be a linen closet, that was now bricked off completely.

When routine spells and even a bit of battle magic hadn’t disturbed the bricks in the slightest (no surprise here) Eliot let himself slide down the opposing wall onto the floor. Facing the bricks now from his seat across from the closet, he closed his eyes. Some magic was deceptive, it played tricks on your eyes and your senses. Mayakovsky was a great magician, but Eliot had been a god damn High King, he could figure this out, just as he had figured out how to run a dying country. He let his mind sort through all it could muster under the benzodiazepine fog. Back to old books, lectures, eavesdropping on his now colleagues years ago, until finally the thought came to him. 

Mayakovsky was a Master Magician yes, but within that he was a man who led a simple life, a teacher who was straightforward and had no time for mind games or trivial complexities. Sometimes the solution doesn’t require pages of arithmetic or the correct phase of the moon or novel spellwork. Sometimes magic can be as straightforward as you wish it to be. Sometimes all you have to do is believe, simply know that it will work. Not amazingly original, but it was a tired trick that a high-powered mind might overlook as too simple. Or it may never even occur to someone at all. Eliot stood from the floor and wiped all doubt from his mind. With determination and familiarity he walked right up to the bricked in wall, not slowing or flinching in the slightest, and strolled straight through it, to the other side.

Usually when one finds a heavily guarded, very disguised, hiding in plain sight passageway to a secret room, what’s waiting on the other side is exciting and different and full of wonder. This however, was not the case for Eliot as he found himself in Mayakovsky’s secret study. It was extraordinarily dull and not in the least bit exciting. The walls were a worn gray, the floors were white tile, and above his head were hospital lights that buzzed to greet him. Eliot was actually quite annoyed at the complete lack of creativity, what the hell is the point of being a magician if you don’t at least make your personal corner of the world divine? But the disappointment of the plain room subsided as he found that its contents were not nearly as boring as it’s physical appearance. There might be a lesson here, but Eliot didn’t like that ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ bullshit. Just make the cover exciting and beautiful if you want it to be taken seriously. It was apparent that even cover art was too trivial for Mayakovsky though.

Eliot fingered the various devices and contraptions as he gracefully made his way through the harshly lit room. There was hardly an apparatus that he recognized. Making a rectangle with his two forefingers and thumbs, Eliot looked through his lens at the room and its contents. Though he could feel the magic as soon as crossed the barrier, he could now at least confirm that everything in here was definitely some kind of high-powered mechanism. He was careful not to disturb anything too greatly as he neared the back of the small space. It was here, in the back left corner of the space that he first felt it’s pull on him. 

It was leaned upright against the cornering walls; and it felt as though Eliot had a string attached to his chest, anchored on this thing, and it was slowly reeling him in. The light it emitted was not the surrounding hospital light, but something deeper. It was like peering into well lit emptiness, nothing, but in the same instance, something. He allowed himself to be drawn in closer to it, until he was standing just in front of the mirror, with his own reflection peering back at him. Besides the slight warping of the light of the room, there was nothing adversely abnormal about the mirror. It was about six feet tall and three feet wide, set in an ornate silver frame. But what was abnormal was the sudden gravity that was acting on Eliot, drawing him in closer, and the slow creeping dread that was now entangling him. As his own hazel eyes peered back at him through the glass, Eliot stopped himself just short of his nose touching it’s twin on the other side. 

He quickly shut his eyes and inhaled sharply as he turned his back to the strange mirror. Eliot took a few deep breaths to re-center himself and tried to shake the odd feeling. Subconsciously, he swiped at his chest where the ghost string had been tethered and rolled his shoulders back as if to shrug off the coat of dread. He knew it was odd, but for now the new gravity in the room had been severed and Eliot decided it was within his best interest to leave the ugly room now, before the feeling returned. 

On his way back to the bricked up doorway his foot caught on something resting on the ground. He looked down to see what had just insulted his left shoe, to be met with a shiny metal orb. Already feeling a bit annoyed at the room and its strange qualities, he went to push the sphere away with his foot, but it met resistance. He stretched a hand out in front of himself to levitate the thing and move it out of kicking distance but it would not budge. Now even more put out by the orb not responding to his usually very strong whim, Eliot stepped back and positioned himself to pull out a more forceful spell. But, when this too was met resistance, a casting strong enough to lift the damn building itself, Eliot gave up and decided to shrug that off too. He stepped around the, apparently heavy as hell, shiny beach ball device and made his way back towards the bricked wall. 

Thank god the little thing caught his eye, hanging on the wall to his right before he left the place. If the bottles weren’t quite so shiny, he may have forgotten the reason he went in there in the first place. He grabbed all three of the bottles and pocketed two as he walked through the bricks. The third he uncorked as he began to whisper the incantations. Eliot worked as he walked and on the final repeat of the words, he took a seat on the end of the small twin bed. The nightmare left his mind as suddenly as it came and when it was gone, he felt the pressure lift from his chest. He tried to lie back on the bed to bask in his relief, but suddenly the drabness, rotting fruit smell, and constant humidity of the place became too much to bear. And if he was going to live here another second, much less 364 more days, he would need to fix that.

The following day Eliot had renovated Brakebills South to his satisfaction. The work wasn’t difficult really, just time consuming. And performing the changes in a timely manner was probably not helped by the hourly cocktail breaks he took. See, Eliot had not been feeling like himself lately; though, can you really blame him considering the events as of late? But more to the point, behind a bar was one of the few places in the world where he felt completely comfortable and most like himself. So, the concocting of new and exotic cocktails (thanks to Mayakovsky’s stash) was taken on as a form of self-care. And by hour three and drink five, the vision of his new home became clear in his mind and the work started to go by at a much steadier pace.

He started in the small professor’s apartment, expanding the walls and ceilings nearly tenfold to a size suitable to live in for a human being. The small window to the side of the bed stretched horizontally and vertically until the East (was it still East at the bottom of the globe?) facing wall was nothing but clear glass. He figured it was best to just burn the bed and all personal remnants of Mayakovsky, and that was done accordingly. The furniture was replaced by the circular bed he had grown fond of at Marina’s apartment, a vanity that simply floated near the windows, facing the view, and a reading chair on the left side of the room. The closet and bathroom were of course expanded as well and were a complimentary contemporary style to match the room. 

Pleased with the new look, Eliot took a seat on the now red satin bed, exhaling as brought the glass in his right hand to his lips. Much to his disappointment, his glass had run dry -again- and such an event just would not be apt when he needed his creative thinking at high capacity. Rolling his eyes at the empty vessel in his hand, he made his way back to the common room; which was a depressing sight now, compared to his improved living quarters. 

Even after his now sixth Absinthe Corpse Reviver (google it), and giving the common room, entry hall and kitchen a much needed facelift, it still felt as though something was missing. The live edge table looked…dead, the blood red drapes looked…like shit. He thought maybe it was him, perhaps he just needed a constant high to be able to stand the place. But when he remembered that the Absinthe he took from the cottage was the authentic shit, infused with wormwood, he started to doubt this. And knowing that incorporating opium into the air was a bit too far out of the realm of possibilities, he started to consider other options.

There were many things he and all the other students had missed during their time at Brakebills South. Their voices, their human forms at times, professors who weren’t belligerent drunks (sorry new comers, that one’s staying, except maybe the belligerency) warmth. He wished Margo were here, she always did know exactly what a place needed. Just as he was beginning to regret this decision and dread the upcoming months, the thought occurred to him. Sunlight. Soft yellow sunlight, that kissed your skin with warmth when it touched you. Not the depressing white ball that hovered above the snow outside, but the familiar rays of Upstate New York sun.

Eliot had heard of the magic before, the creation of a false sun, but he had never done it nor seen it performed in person. But from what he had heard, it was a fairly complex cooperative spell, requiring at least three magicians to complete. Well, if Q had taught him anything, it was that there is always a way. And as he flipped through the books in what was now his study, that ‘way’ seemed more attainable. 

The book he needed peered out at him from a bottom shelf, in pristine condition, looking as though it had never been touched. Which made sense, naturalist magic was incredibly boring, and he guessed Mayakovsky shared with him that opinion. Eliot took the forest green book in hand and tossed it lightly onto the desk. With a flick of his middle finger, Henry Thoreau’s Guide to Naturalist Transcendence opened itself to reveal the spell of The Eternal Sun. 

While it was indeed complex, it was also designed to produce a sun that was two miles in width and could power a two thousand square mile ecosystem. Well, no ecosystems here needed powering and a two-mile-wide sun was a tad overkill, so Eliot figured with a little tweaking and revising, he could make this work. He really just needed the ambiance of sunlight. After resetting the warming charms and fixing the hole in the casting so that it was no longer humid, true warmth wasn’t a necessity. Just the light. 

After three and a half hours, enough math equations for a year, plenty of frustrated sighs and eyerolls, and maybe a touch of cocaine, Eliot had broken down the three-caster monster of a spell into something he could handle on his own. Naturalists were somehow always overkill while they managed to be mind numbingly boring. You could achieve a 12-inch diameter sun that actually did produce some gentle warmth with only one magician, 70 minutes and a fraction of the expenses in ingredients. The only particularly difficult part would be harnessing Neon gas. All other required elements were easily found- hydrogen, helium, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, magnesium, iron and silicon. The amount of neon needed for the original spell would have taken years to recover. But with the changes Eliot had made to the casting, the trace amounts found in the Earth’s crust would work just fine.

After harvesting all the needed elements from the air, crust of the earth, metals and meteorite rock, Eliot started in on the incantation and binding of the elements. He found it a little ridiculous to incorporate yoga into spell casting, but that was naturalists for you. After 70 minutes of non-stop chanting, full body movements and the occasional bright white flame from the Magnesium, the spell was completed with the birth of a miniature sun. 

“Jesus Christ.” Eliot breathed as he watched his solar creation take form before him in the great room. Only seconds had passed before he had to turn his face away against the bright light of the thing. It may have only been a foot wide but it was stupidly bright and a bit too warm. He really didn’t expect it to be of such magnitude, but then again, it was the first serious bit of magic he had performed since losing Quentin. We all know where magic really comes from, and Eliot had plenty to spare. He waved the ball of energy upwards to the top of the domed ceiling of the room. There, from 20 feet above the floor, the light and heat radiating off his baby sun was bearable, nice even. 

Satisfied with the now sun washed room and comforting rays above him, Eliot took a seat at the long table and let the exhaustion wash over him. Today had been more productive than some of the most hectic days as High King and he was ready to drift off into a dreamless sleep. But first, might as well have a bourbon to celebrate. Things were looking up, and the spell had renewed his confidence in his belief that he would find his way back to Q.


End file.
